


Quick 'n Dirty

by dracoqueen22



Series: Number One Crush [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sticky Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker had an idea, Sideswipe was inspired, and Ratchet's always up for a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick 'n Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Wrench of Inspiration prompt on the twins-x-ratch livejournal community.

The berth hadn't been big enough, which was how they wound up on the floor.  
  
Sunstreaker whined and bitched because it was scratching his paint, which had caused Sideswipe to storm out in an annoyed huff, only to return victorious with what had to be the largest tarp Ratchet had ever seen. Where he'd gotten it from and in such a short amount of time, the medic had no clue. He was half-afraid to ask.  
  
The tarp, however, stopped Sunstreaker's griping mid-sentence but then they were forced to watch Sunstreaker meticulously lay it out over the floor.  
  
He had a touch of obsessive compulsion, their lovely goldenrod did. Ratchet had to thank the humans for providing him that little term because otherwise he might have called it a twitch.  
  
So he and Sideswipe stood back, trading amused glances, cooling fans whirring into overdrive, as they watched Sunstreaker smooth the tarp over the floor. Tucking the ends as flat as possible, smoothing out wrinkles, dragging down a few pillows from the berth to make it even more comfortable.  
  
“If he bends over one more time, I'm going to tackle him, to the Pit with his moaning about creases,” Sideswipe said, subvocally, his optics bright with hunger. He'd been riding the hard edge of arousal for the past hour and it was starting to show.  
  
Ratchet bit back a laugh and reached out, sliding a hand around Sideswipe's waist, fingers dipping into an armor seam and teasing a sensitive wire beneath. “We could give him visual incentive...” he suggested.  
  
Sideswipe smirked, energy field rising up and crashing over Ratchet with all the subtlety of a wrench to the helm. “Good enough for me,” he said, and his hand whipped out, snagging around the back of Ratchet's helm and dragging him in for a strut-jarring kiss.  
  
Heat flooded Ratchet's systems so quickly his HUD flashed a warning. He'd been dancing on the brim of processor-melting arousal for the past hour as well and he'd been craving contact. This was exactly what he needed.  
  
Sideswipe's glossa plunged into his mouth, a hungry rumble echoing through the frontliner's frame. They collided, a ring of metal on metal, and Sideswipe's other hand grabbed Ratchet's hip, bringing their pelvic arrays into delicious, heated contact. Ratchet moaned into the kiss, optics offlining, spike knocking against his still-shuttered panel.  
  
Ratchet reached out, pawing blindly at sleek red armor, knowing all the best places to get. Sideswipe revved up and eager. All thoughts of making a show for Sunstreaker vanished and all Ratchet could do was chase after the overload that had been teasing him all evening. He wanted. By Primus, he wanted.  
  
Then again, he couldn't imagine a time he would _not_ want the twins.  
  
The warmth of Sideswipe's frame called to him, radiating the pleasure that could be found. Ratchet groaned again, eager for more.  
  
An engine-rumbling moan echoed him and Ratchet's optics wandered back to Sunstreaker, who had stopped playing with the tarp only to lay himself upon it. Sunstreaker had shamelessly spread his legs, one finger coyly circling his valve panel over and over, the other tracing the nigh-invisible seam of his chestplates. Inviting and teasing all at once, the vain fragger.  
  
“Think he's trying to tell us something?” Sideswipe murmured against Ratchet's audial, ex-vents a hot caress over the sensitive components.  
  
A shudder wracked the medic from helm to pede. He smirked, fuel pump stuttering as Sunstreaker's fingers dragged over his panel, pressing briefly against it, to his own vocal delight.  
  
“I think he's begging for it,” Ratchet retorted and disentangled himself from Sideswipe's embrace, intending to give Sunstreaker a piece of his... well, not mind, that was for sure.  
  
Sideswipe chuckled.  
  
Sunstreaker onlined his optics, giving both of them a half-shuttered look of coy invitation. “The way you two old ladies chat, I could have taken care of myself twice over,” he said, vocals rough and heavy with desire. His thighs parted further, bundles of cables peeking through gaps in his armor.  
  
“All right, you spoiled fragger, we'll give you the attention you want,” Ratchet retorted with a roll of his optics, but he dropped to his knees nonetheless, one hand landing on Sunstreaker's pede, his mouth dropping to explore the complicated mechanisms of Sunstreaker's knee.  
  
His glossa pushed through a gap in the plating, tickling over a hydraulic line, and he was rewarded with Sunstreaker shuddering. It always amused Ratchet that the badaft frontliner was sensitive around his knees.  
  
“Tease,” Sunstreaker accused.  
  
Ratchet laughed, his hand gliding up Sunstreaker's plating, from pede to shin to knee, as his mouth continued upward, over thigh and then to the juncture of hip and thigh, to those tantalizing glimpses of cables. The heady scent of fine wax and polish floated to his chemoreceptors, something Ratchet's circuits responded to like Pavlov's dogs. He forever associated fine waxes with Sunstreaker and his interface units responded accordingly, heat and lubricant pooling in his valve. His spike knocked against the panel as well, but it wasn't part of the game this time around.  
  
Behind him, Sideswipe whistled and from a lateral sensor, Ratchet could see the red twin reach down, cupping the closed panel of his interface unit. “I should take a picture of you two. I'd make millions.”  
  
“Don't you dare,” Sunstreaker snarled with a hint of violence.  
  
“Or you could participate,” Ratchet retorted, swiping his glossa over Sunstreaker's interface panel, hoping to distract him from potential altercation. He'd rather be between them in ecstasy, not breaking up a sibling fight.  
  
“Mmm. I could,” Sideswipe said and a warm hand landed on Ratchet's aft, stroking the bright red plating. One finger dipped down, ghosting over Ratchet's panel, which snapped open almost immediately. If he were a young mech, he might have been embarrassed about it.  
  
Sideswipe's finger, however, only traced the edges of Ratchet's valve, teasing through the dribbles of lubricant and brushing over sensitive nodes, keying them up.  
  
Ratchet's hips twitched, pushing back toward Sunstreaker, the calipers in his valve cycling from anticipation.  
  
“You'd better!” Ratchet retorted, only to be distracted by Sunstreaker's panel popping open, the scent of lubricant now mingling with the enticing blend of wax and polish. Lubricant was a glossy sheen in the depths of Sunstreaker's valve and Ratchet's glossa dipped inward, getting his first taste of the evening.  
  
The shudder that hit Sunstreaker wracked him all over, plating lifting in open invitation, a soft keen building in his chassis.  
  
“Primus,” Sunstreaker moaned, hands clenching and unclenching as though he didn't know where to place them.  
  
Ratchet chuckled against Sunstreaker's valve, pushing his glossa in once more, tracing the rim of Sunstreaker's valve before finding the main anterior node and laving it gently. Sunstreaker's hips twitched, legs parting further, eager for more. More lubricant trickled out and Ratchet could hear the mechanisms of Sunstreaker's valve contracting.  
  
“Oh, I will,” Sideswipe said, his vocals taking on a low quality. “But I think I'm going to need something first.”  
  
Ratchet, focused on his optics and not his lateral sensors, heard Sideswipe's pedesteps as they wandered away. Slag Sideswipe and his random ideas!  
  
“Should I be worried?” Ratchet asked, lifting his helm to tease the apical edge of Sunstreaker's valve and to meet Sunstreaker's optics.  
  
“He's in a mood,” the golden twin huffed, his optics half-lidded, but a darkened sheen. “Someone's been giving him _ideas_.”  
  
Ratchet had a fair idea who that someone was. Well, he'd make that sneaky saboteur pay for it later. Ratchet had ideas, too and he'd whisper them to Ironhide the first chance he had.  
  
But, back to the matter at glossa, the valve eagerly awaiting his ministrations. Ratchet dipped his helm again, tracing the mouth of Sunstreaker's valve, putting a flitting focus on the ring of sensors that dotted the edge.  
  
All irritation melted from Sunstreaker's energy field, entirely replaced by a bright surge of heat and desire.  
  
“Yesss,” Sunstreaker hissed, pelvic array pushing toward Ratchet's mouth, seeking more. “Forget that idiot. _More_.”  
  
“Not an idiot,” Sideswipe said as he returned, the smugness emanating from his energy field more than a little worrisome. “And you'll thank me when we're through, Ratchet.”  
  
“We'll see,” he said, not expecting much, at least, not until Sideswipe's hands returned to his aft.  
  
Ratchet's valve quivered in anticipation. Sideswipe's fingers traced the edges of his valve, over and over, gathering up the lubricant dribbling out and smearing it over Ratchet's aft.  
  
“Get on with it!” Sunstreaker demanded, the growl devolving into a moan as Ratchet's glossa dipped into his valve, exploring the inner nodes with deft flicks.  
  
Sideswipe snickered. “So impatient.” His hands swept over Ratchet's aft again before one of them disappeared. “Got a little present for ya, Ratch. Courtesy of Wheeljack.”  
  
The hand returned, fingers circling Ratchet's valve before something long and tubular pushed into Ratchet's valve. It was warm, fitting perfectly to the contours of his valve, and a moan slipped free from Ratchet's mouth. His valve cycled down, clenching on the object, which suddenly sprung to life, sending a rousing cascade of vibrations through his components.  
  
“Sweet Primus on a pogostick,” Ratchet groaned, glossa slipping from Sunstreaker's valve as he curved his backstrut, pleasure rippling through him. “What in the Smelter's Pit...?”  
  
“Heh. Thought you'd like it.” Sideswipe's hands disappeared and the object pulsed again, an arrhythmic wave of vibrations.  
  
“Nnn.” Ratchet's hips swayed, hands pulling into fists. “How are you--?”  
  
“Remote control.” Sideswipe replied smugly. “You'll never know what's coming.”  
  
A sound of frustration erupted from Sunstreaker. “Don't distract him!” he seethed, golden hands reaching down, aiming for Ratchet's helm, determined to get some relief for the interrupted charge.  
  
“Ah, ah,” Sideswipe said, grabbing Sunstreaker's hands before they could land. He straddled Sunstreaker, pinning Sunstreaker's arms beneath his knees. “You've both had some fun. It's time I joined the party.”  
  
“Don't you dare scratch my paint!” Sunstreaker argued, giving only a token attempt at tugging his arms free.  
  
Sideswipe chuckled. “Relax, Sunshine. We'll fix it if we have to. Now,” he purred and the sound of a metal panel snapping open echoed in the room. “My turn.”  
  
Ratchet lifted his optics and felt his fuel pump skip another cycle at the sight. Sweet Primus, was he... why, yes he was. Sideswipe had scooted a few more inches further, tilting his hips, straddling Sunstreaker's face and putting his uncovered valve within perfect reach of Sunstreaker's mouth.  
  
And the sight of Sunstreaker's glossa slipping free, curling out to taste the edge of Sideswipe's valve was enough to set Ratchet's engine to revving. More scintillating was the way Sideswipe's armor flared, charge crawling across his red plating. Ratchet groaned, his valve clenching down on the toy, the vibrations echoing through him.  
  
“Now remember,” Sideswipe said, vocals tinted with amusement but ringing strongly of arousal, “no spikes.”  
  
“You're the one who showed up with a toy,” Sunstreaker accused as he latched onto Sideswipe's anterior node, suckling on it mercilessly.  
  
A sound not unlike a shriek escaped Sideswipe, his frame bucking toward his twin's mouth. Ratchet moaned in concert as the toy in his valve increased its intensity, long and throbbing pulses that seemed aimed at every fragged sensor lining his valve.  
  
“Yesssss,” Sideswipe hissed, grinding down on against his brother's glossa, though careful not to press too hard. He leaned back, bracing his hands on Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, keeping Sunstreaker's arms pinned by the weight of his knees.  
  
Ratchet drew in several deep intakes and a needy sound from Sunstreaker reminded him of someone else who needed attention. Though the toy in his valve was distracting, so was the scent of Sunstreaker and the continued push of eager lubricant. Ratchet bent to his task once more, shoving his glossa deep into Sunstreaker's valve, to his lover's rather vocal pleasure.  
  
He curled his arms under Sunstreaker's thighs, hands hooking around within perfect reach of the sensitive seams between thigh and hip. Ratchet drew charge with his fingertips, directing it along inner cables, feeling Sunstreaker twitch across his plating.  
  
“Tell ya what,” Sideswipe panted. “First one to overload has to go get the energon.”  
  
“Fragger,” Sunstreaker snarled, a loud moan escaping him along with the obscene noises of his glossa on his brother's valve. “You know how close I am!”  
  
Sideswipe laughed. “That's my point, bro. But maybe I can give ya some help.”  
  
There was a moment and then--  
  
Ratchet yelped, fingers clenching down on Sunstreaker's thighs, the buzzing of the toy audible now as it pulsed and wriggled and spun and writhed within his valve. Charge fizzled and snapped across his circuits, valve clamping down hard, magnifying the pleasure. A low, helpless moan escaped him, optics offlining as his hips danced to the rhythm of the toy.  
  
His valve spasmed and Ratchet overloaded with a startled cry, waves and waves of pleasure cascading through his sensor net. His valve clenched on the pulsing toy, drawing out the overload and it had to be augmented somehow because despite the wash of lubricant, the toy remained lodged in his valve.  
  
The intensity of the vibrations eased but Ratchet still twitched, sensitive nodes reacting to over-stimulation.  
  
“One down,” Sideswipe said with a pleased chuckle that devolved into another moan. “Two to go.”  
  
“Cocky fragger,” Ratchet huffed as tingles raced through his frame. He locked his mouth on Sunstreaker's valve, glossa attending to each and every node he could reach.  
  
“You love me for it,” Sideswipe said, his hips dancing over his brother's mouth, chasing after his own overload as eagerly as he sought everything else.  
  
Sunstreaker squirmed beneath him, another hot gush of lubricant spilling over Ratchet's glossa. He was close, would have overloaded before Ratchet if not for Sideswipe's interference. Upping the stakes, Ratchet unwound one arm from Sunstreaker's thighs and reached down, stroking over one of Sunstreaker's knees and reaching for the gap in his plating, where the unusually responsive sensors were nestled.  
  
“More,” Sunstreaker moaned, hips twitching toward Ratchet's glossa, the cycling of his valve audible and erratic. “ _Please_.”  
  
When could he ever resist Sunstreaker begging? Short answer: never.  
  
Ratchet latched onto the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, glossa attacking the primary node. Sunstreaker bucked beneath him, entire frame shuddering, charge crackling across his armor. His energy field swelled, pulsing through the room and slamming against Sideswipe, who let out a startled yelp, succumbing to his own overload as if by surprise. Hah, served him right. And luckily for Ratchet, the overload seemed to cut off the toy in his valve, too.  
  
Beneath the both of them, Sunstreaker jerked upward, shouting as release swept through him with all the subtlety of a blaster to the face. Sideswipe shouted as he was tossed over his brother's head, much to Ratchet's amusement, and Sunstreaker's arms were freed. The clatter of Sideswipe rolling across the floor and skidding to a stop against the berth was the iron shavings on the oilcake.  
  
The next moment, Ratchet found himself grabbed by a pair of golden arms and hauled up, Sunstreaker's mouth crashing over his. The taste of Sideswipe's lubricants mingled with the taste of Sunstreaker's on their glossas and Ratchet shuddered, curling against the buzzing heat of the golden twin.  
  
“Looking for round two?” Ratchet asked in between a flurry of kisses as Sunstreaker's hands started to roam over his frame.  
  
“With you? Always?” Sunstreaker purred, throwing a leg around Ratchet's hip and grinding up against the medic. His panel remained open, lubricant dampening the floor beneath him.  
  
“Aren't you two forgetting something?” Sideswipe grumped as he levered himself up off the floor.  
  
Sunstreaker reached down, one finger circling Ratchet's valve before pressing in, nudging at the quiescent toy. “Not that I can recall. Ratchet?”  
  
He shivered, valve twitching. “No. All seems right over here.”  
  
“Really,” Sideswipe drawled and the toy came to life once more, seemingly invented just to torture Ratchet into a puddle of submission.  
  
An embarrassing sound left his vocalizer, closer to a yelp, and he clutched at Sunstreaker, frame writhing against the golden mech.  
  
“What about now?”  
  
Ratchet sucked in a sharp intake, his fans whirring back to life with an embarrassing _ker_ - _clunk_. “You Pit-spawned fragger!”  
  
Sideswipe snickered, his default setting, and all but launched himself onto the entwined frames on the floor. The ensuing kerfuffle inspired round two. And then round three.  
  
Ratchet never did get that energon.  
  


***


End file.
